Whirlwind Wedding (12 page)

Danger. He's in danger.

She fought to untangle her sweaty limbs from the damp sheets. Urgency pumped through her and a deep sense of dread pricked her skin like a thousand stinging bees.

Austin. Hurt. Bleeding.

Panic sliced through her and she forced herself to draw deep, calming breaths. Sitting on the edge of the bed she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to form the vague images careening through her mind into something coherent.

A stone tower, surrounded by crumbling walls. A gunshot. A black horse rearing. Austin, falling, injured. Bleeding.

Death.

A deafening clap of thunder followed immediately by a flash of lightning jerked her from her thoughts. She had to find him. She sensed he was not too far away—but where? Yanking off her night rail with shaking hands, she dressed as quickly as possible. Grabbing her medical bag, she dashed down the back stairs and ran toward the stables.

*

James Kinney paced in the shadows near the crumbling ruins, awaiting the duke's arrival, anxious to tell him the incredible, staggering information he'd discovered. Footsteps crunched on the rocks directly behind him, and he spun around.

"Your grace, I—" He froze, frowning at the man emerging from the shadows. "Who are you?"

For an answer the stranger aimed a pistol at James's temple. "You are good at asking questions, especially about me,
monsieur?
the stranger said in an unmistakable French accent. "You've been asking them all over London. Now you will answer one of mine. What information are you bringing to the Duke of Bradford?"

"You're Gaspard."

The Frenchman advanced another step. "The duke is a fool. He should have known better than to hire a Runner to find me. I ask you again,
monsieur.
What information do you have? You will tell me, or you will die."

He smiled and James saw madness in his eyes.

And James knew that even if he talked his time on earth had come to an end.

Thunder cracked as loudly and suddenly as a gunshot.

Breathless and close to panic, Elizabeth arrived at the stables just past midnight. Mortlin had obviously retired as he was nowhere to be found.

Without hesitation, she lifted the first saddle she saw, grunting under its weight, and quickly outfitted Rosamunde. It wasn't until she'd led the mare outside that she realized she'd used a gentleman's saddle. Without a thought to the impropriety of her actions, she employed a move she hadn't used since arriving in England. Hitching her skirts up to her thighs, she mounted the horse, sitting astride. Her muscles creaked in protest, but she ignored the discomfort.

Turning Rosamunde, she studied the series of paths leading into the forest. Which one would lead her to Austin? Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind forcing herself to concentrate.
Left. Take the left path.

Without hesitation, she headed down the left path, her eyes searching the darkness, her pulse pounding. Rosamunde followed the dirt trail, and Elizabeth kept concentrating, forcing the image of Austin into her mind's eye. They were getting closer . . . she knew it. But would she be too late?

Another roar of thunder split the silence. A lightning bolt streaked across the black sky, briefly illuminating the gloomy surroundings.

And she saw it in the distance.

The stone tower she'd envisioned. Urging Rosamunde into a brisk gallop, she headed directly toward it. Twigs snapped at her arms, and a branch whipped against her shoulder, but the stinging pain barely registered.

Raindrops began falling, gently at first, but within moments they turned into a cold needlelike spray that pelted her unmercifully. She emerged from the fringes of the forest and galloped full bent across the meadow.

The outline of the tower flashed before her with every slash of lightning.

When the tower loomed no more than thirty feet away, she reined Rosamunde to a halt and squinted into the darkness.
Where are you, Austin?

Lightning flashed. The tower rose before her. A riderless black horse grazed by a low stone wall.

A figure lay sprawled facedown on the ground.

"Austin!" Her heart leapt with both relief and fear. Thank God she'd found him . . . but was she too late?

She slid from the saddle and ran to him, stumbling across the slippery ground. Heedless of the mud, she dropped to her knees beside him. With her heart lodged in her throat and a prayer on her lips, she pressed her fingers to his neck.

His pulse throbbed against her fingertips.

A relieved sob bubbled inside her, but she firmly pushed it aside. Now was not the time to allow her emotions to get the better of her. She had to determine the extent of his injuries.

As gently as possible, she turned him over, shielding him as best she could with her body from the driving rain. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils and her stomach knotted with fear.

Blinking the rain from her eyes, she peered into his face. His eyes were closed and blood oozed from a nasty gash on his temple.

She ran her hands quickly down his body, searching for additional injuries, praying he hadn't fallen victim to the gunshot she'd heard in her vision. She soon determined that he hadn't been shot, but her fingers discovered an egg-sized lump on the back of his head.

She gently patted his face. "Austin, can you hear me?"

He remained perfectly still and frighteningly silent.

Lightning flashed again. Glancing up, she saw an arched opening in the base of the tower. She had to get him out of this weather to treat him.

Rising, she grasped him under his arms and pulled. Dear God the man weighed a veritable ton. Thank goodness she only had to move him a short distance.

Her heart pinched when he moaned. Although she tried desperately not to hurt him, she knew the sharp rocks scraped him. Her back ached from the heavy weight, and she slipped once, landing hard on her bottom.

Gritting her teeth, she dragged him the last few feet into the shelter of the tower. Then she dashed back into the rain and snatched her medical bag from Rosamunde's saddle. Rosamunde and Myst had moved close to the tower. She didn't tether them in case they grew frightened and wanted to bolt, in which case she suspected they would simply head back toward the stables.

Back inside the tower, Elizabeth dropped to her knees next to Austin's inert form, then immediately opened her bag and set to work.

First she removed a small lantern and lit it. Holding it close to his head she examined his wound. She could see at once that he required stitches, but she was more concerned by the fact that he hadn't regained consciousness. If he was bleeding inside— She ruthlessly cut off the thought and concentrated on the matter at hand. Controlled calm settled over her. She knew exactly what needed to be done for his wound. And it needed to be done immediately.

Pulling two small wooden bowls from her bag, she ran outside and quickly filled them with rainwater. Again kneeling next to Austin, she mixed roots and herbs together with quiet concentration.

After washing the wound she closed it with a series of tiny, precise stitches, then snugly wrapped his head with a long strip of fresh gauze.

Resting her hand on his face, she was relieved that his skin remained cool and his breathing was slow and steady, good signs that his lungs were clear and his ribs uninjured.

All she could do now was wait for him to awaken.

And pray that he did.

After carefully replacing her supplies, she stood to rub her tense, aching back muscles. Fatigue washed over her with a vengeance and she stretched her hands over her head to relieve the strain in her lower back.

"Elizabeth."

Austin's voice was barely more than a hoarse rasp, but her heart jumped when she heard it.
Thank God.
Her exhaustion instantly forgotten, she dropped to her knees beside him and smiled down at his pale, handsome face. "I'm right here, Austin."

He moved his head and winced. "My head hurts."

"I'm sure it does, but at least you're awake."

Austin wasn't sure he was glad to be awake. White hot pain sizzled through his skull and he sucked in a sharp breath. Damn, it felt as if someone had smashed a rock over his head. In fact, he'd be hard pressed to name a body part that didn't ache in one form or another. And why the hell was he wet?

His gaze settled on Elizabeth. She appeared in a state of dishevelment, a fact that didn't surprise him.

"Where are we?" he asked his eyes slowly scanning the room.

"Some sort of ruins. On the bottom floor of a tower."

He stared at her, his mind a blank. "Why?"

"You don't recall what happened to you?"

He forced himself to concentrate and suddenly he
did
remember. A note from Kinney. Information. The ruins. But Kinney never came . . . no doubt because of the storm. Starting back to the house. Lightning striking close by. A crack of thunder. Myst rearing. Falling . . .

"Thunder and lightning spooked Myst. He reared tossing me." He lifted his hand and winced when his fingers brushed a bandage on his forehead.

"What is this?"

"You suffered a deep cut on your forehead that I cleaned stitched and dressed. There's also a sizable lump on the back of your head."

Bloody hell, no wonder his skull hurt so much. His head actually
had
collided with a rock. "Is Myst all right?"

"Yes. He's outside. With Rosamunde. Now that you're awake, I'll check on them. I'll be back in a moment."

She exited through the arched doorway and returned several minutes later leading both horses by their reins. She walked them to the far side of the room, then spent some time patting each animal, speaking to them in comforting tones. Austin closed his eyes, listening to her. He couldn't make out her words, but her voice sounded soft and soothing.

She returned to his side and knelt beside him. "They're both fine. How are you feeling?"

"Sore, and my head is pounding like a legion of devils is hitting me with hammers. Other than that, I believe I'm all right." He attempted to sit up, but nauseating dizziness washed over him.

"Don't try to move, Austin," she said, laying a gently restraining hand on his shoulder. "It's too soon."

"Perhaps you're right." Closing his eyes, he swallowed and waited hoped for his equilibrium to return. After several deep breaths, the nausea passed and he risked opening his eyes.

She knelt next to him, watching him, and his gaze searched her face in the dim light. Her hair was a wet tangle of curls surrounding her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with unmistakable concern but suspicions intruded niggling at him. How had she located him? Had she followed him? No one had known he was going to the ruins. The only person he'd seen had been Mortlin, and he'd dismissed him for the evening. Had he told her what direction he'd taken?

"How did you find me?"

She hesitated then drew a deep breath. "I was awakened by a vision of you. I knew you were in danger. I saw you. Hurt. Bleeding. By some sort of stone tower. I dressed saddled Rosamunde, and allowed my instincts to lead me . . . to you."

The bark of disbelief that would have, should have, risen to his lips, died in his throat. Honesty and concern glowed from her eyes like beacons in a storm. As mad as her words sounded he found he couldn't discount them.

But surely there had to be another explanation . . . a
logical
explanation.

"Did you see Mortlin at the stables?"

"No. It was after midnight. He must have retired."

After midnight? He'd left the house just before ten, and according to Caroline, Elizabeth had retired a half hour before that. If she'd remained in bed . . . how could she have known where he was? Or what had happened?

If she actually had the ability to see things in her mind . . . but no, he simply couldn't credit such an outlandish idea. She was merely greatly intuitive, as his mother had been during his childhood always sensing when her sons had fallen into mischief. And Rosamunde was familiar with the paths leading to the ruins . . .

But he'd have to consider that later, when he felt more himself. When his head wasn't threatening to detach itself from his shoulders. Still, one thing was certain.

Elizabeth had undoubtedly saved his life. Who knows how long he would have lain bleeding on the ground if she hadn't happened along?

She'd not only somehow found him, but had treated his injuries as well.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude and my thanks, Elizabeth."

A frown creased her brow and what appeared to be anger sparked in her eyes. "You're welcome. However, if you'd heeded my warning about riding at night, this would not have happened."

He stilled. By God she
had
warned him . . . told him there was danger.

Bloody hell, get hold of yourself man. 'Tis nothing more than a coincidence.

There's always a risk of injury riding in the dark.

"What on earth possessed you to ride at night?" she asked.

He debated whether to tell her the truth, and decided to do so, to gauge her reaction. Watching her carefully, he said "I hired a Bow Street Runner to find information about a Frenchman I saw with William shortly before he died. The Runner had discovered something and was supposed to meet me here at the ruins."

"Supposed
to meet you?"

"He never showed up, no doubt delayed because of the storm, but I'm certain he'll contact me as soon as possible."

Surely if she had any knowledge of Gaspard or his connection to William, she would look anxious, guilt ridden, or in some way suspicious.

Surely she wouldn't look irate.